Beards Hurt
by Mizayo
Summary: Dean McMaron is a vampire. He's also a lazy, post-punk who plans on wasting his whole unlife away. Since moving to LA, though, some weird crap's gone down. He's got a best friend, learned a hella' lot about vampire politics, and met a fascinating new woman who just so happens to work for the head honcho himself. Just what the hell is going on here? Warning: M/M
1. Who Mourns for Cammies?

**A/N - **Alright. So. To start off, I would like to say that this story is really starting to get to me. Like, the characters are creeping around my head constantly anymore, and while I had wanted to wait and make sure I have enough chapters out to create a release schedule, I fear I simply cannot keep from posting this any longer. I realize that I don't have the greatest track record with unfinished stories, but I assure you, I WILL finish this one. I've already gotten up to about half way through chapter nine, and I fully intend to keep going.

That being said, I want to establish what the updating schedule will most likely be. Right now, I'm thinking every two weeks. That way, it allows me to focus on school work and my grades while still having enough time in between to work on the next couple chapters. I realize that there is always a possibility for something to turn up unexpectedly, but I promise I will always work to keep updating this, and will give an ETA if and when the schedule might need to be temporarily altered. I also realize that this story is likely not to have a very large following, but I still feel that this is necessary for me to put on myself, so that I actually finish a story for once. A personal goal, if you will. And if any readers benefit from this schedule, then well! Good for that too! :) I'm thinking that, while this is actually a Tuesday, I will update every two Fridays. That way, it gives me some time at school to work on it as well, as strangely that seems to be the only times I get large amounts done.

And now that that's out of the way, I hope you enjoy!

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**1. Who Mourns for Cammies?**

It was cold. Like, _really_ cold. Cold enough to instantly freeze a horse in his tracks as he tried to run down from Russia to France. But fuck if Dean cared. Pretty little babe strapped to his side for dear life, the full moon casting just enough light for him to see perfectly, and enough booze in him to OD three cows - he was happy. Fuck, it was his 63rd birthday - man was allowed a little shit-facing at this age. But… _Jesus_, it was cold.

"Darling," he mumbled, his mouth having almost frozen shut without his noticing. How could it be so cold without it snowing, or icing over somehow? He brought her closer to him with his arm. Though, of course it wouldn't help any, seeing as his body temp was just as chilly as the rest of the world. "You cold?"

It took a moment before she replied, as of course she would be feeling the cold a lot more than he would be. "Mhmm…" she murmured into his side, trying to dig in further to find the warmth, though he had none. He had forgotten just how fragile humans are. Fuck, if he thought about it, she might even be hypothermic.

"Hold on hun, we'll be back at my place in a minute," he tried to reassure her. She didn't answer, but only leaned farther into his neck. Shit, he needed to get her inside. If he wasn't careful, she would start to freeze - and no one likes deep frozen meals.

When they finally got back to his rented room in the nearby motel, he ushered her inside and wrapped her in a thick blanket as soon as he could. Some birthday snack this was turning out to be - who wanted to nurse their treats back to health? But she was shaking like a leaf, her skin as pale as the oldest Elder he'd seen, and her lips a swollen purple. Strangely attractive, to be honest, but he was everything but a monster. Well, a _kill-on-an-everyday-basi_s kind of monster.

He decided snuggling up close to her was a fairly terrible idea, seeing as he was still probably just as cold as it had been outside. So he sat on a chair across from the bed she was on, watching to see when she would stop shivering. He tried talking to her, but she either was ignoring him, or was passed out sitting up or something weird. He gave up. Another half hour later, she still wouldn't talk. He sighed and stood up, walking over towards her and sitting next to her on the bed. He could see now that she was wide awake, but was refusing to talk to him. He reached up to touch her shoulder, gauging just how cold she was. Still icey, but not dead.

He, however, was now quite warm, and so he wrapped his arms around her slowly, a bit afraid that she would just run off it he startled her. Food was often very skittish, even if they didn't _know_ they were food yet. "Are you doing okay now, Sweetie?" he asked tentatively, rubbing his hands up and down her arms.

It was then that she turned her sharp gaze toward him, her eyes piercing through him. God, was she actually _mad_? At _him_? "Still cold, you bastard. This is not with the $50."

Little bitch was really going to throw that in his face when they hadn't even gotten to do anything? Did she even know that he wasn't planning on fucking her? Doubtful - she _was_ a whore, anyway. "Excuse me?" he finally retorted, backing a few inches from her.

She scoffed, turning her back to him. "You heard me - I was payed to fuck some random cutie, not freeze to death in a ratty motel." She then took a long sigh and laid down on the rough mattress, the blanket still wrapped tightly around her.

He took a moment before replying, but when he did, he smirked, laying down right behind her and wrapping his arm around her waist. "I'm sorry, Sweetie. I didn't mean for this to happen…"

She hesitated before nodding quietly. "I know. I'm sorry for snapping. It's just that freezing isn't exactly on the payroll," she said softly, chuckling a little.

He began stroking her shoulder. "You're just saying sorry so you still get your $50."

"Oh no, I wouldn't do _that_…" he could almost see her smirk.

"I'm sure," he murmured softly, trying to ease her back into a false sense of security. "But I do so feel bad about your freezing. How about I… make it up to you?"

She seemed hesitant, but nodded in the end and let out a small "Mhmm."

Then, ever so slowly, he began to kiss her delicate shoulder, then a little bit towards her neck, kiss by kiss. He heard her sighing as he did so, and she squirmed ever so slightly, her skin warming up under his touch. Finally, he reached her neck, and planted a sensual, languid kiss along that ripe vein. Then, slowly, he opened his mouth to uncover his fangs, and plunged them into her neck.

She jumped, obviously not expecting the sharp pain accompanying a bite such as this, and a small whimper fell from her delicate lips before it changed into a soft sob. He knew that a vampire bite hurt like hell - he himself had been bitten before, obviously - but this seemed almost unnecessarily painful for his lovely little flower. Honestly, though… he didn't care too much. She was delicious, and he wasn't necessarily going to _kill_ her.

After taking enough blood to satisfy him for the next night or two, he ran his tongue over the wound to close it up. He lapped at the blood that hadn't quite gotten into his mouth and had gotten all over her shoulder. When he was done, she was already asleep. Being bitten usually did leave you quite weak, and most kine fall asleep afterwards. He didn't mind; it left time for him to clean up after his mess before leaving.

He walked into the bathroom of the small motel room - the only other area in the whole place - and grabbed a towel from the rack above the toilet. After a moment, though, he grabbed another for good measure. He soaked them both in warm water and walked back towards the bed. He started to wipe off the blood from around her neck, which was surprisingly a lot. Had he been so messy?

Shaking his head to try and clear the thought, he finished cleaning the area around her neck and the mess along the sheets. He was surprised at himself for being so messy, but really he shouldn't have. He was never one to really _try_ to be better at anything, and vampirism was no different. Well, at least, not _too_ different.

Fishing around in his shirt pocket, he pull out his wallet and flip through it. He tossed a $50 next to her, along with a pack of cigarettes as an apology, and walked out the door.

The night was still young, and he had yet to party with anyone as he had originally intended to. Maybe he'd even be able to grab another doll before going back to the motel room. Then they could have their own little party to themselves, he thought.

Dean started walking towards the downtown area. Maybe a nightclub or something… or maybe just a dingy bar. Either sounded great. Flipping his phone on, he dialed in the number of one of his good friends. It took longer for him to pick up, which was unusual for the energetic guy. "Y'ello?"

Dean smirked. Sometimes his friend was a bit… camp. Though, it had always been the thing that made him so fun to hang with. Well, one of the things anyway. "Heyya Knoxie, what's up?" When he hesitated, Dean went ahead and spoke up. "It's my birthday, man, and well… I was wondering if you wanted to come hang out. Grab a few drinks, check out the ladies…?" he drawled, as if trying to tempt Knox more than he knew he already was.

"Uh…" his stomach plummeted at the sound. Really? He was going to ditch Dean _now_? "I'm sorry, D, I'm sorta on a job right now, and I can't… leave. I'm sorry, man! _Man_…"

Damn. He had really been looking forward to hanging out. And he couldn't really be too mad at him, because, well, he _did_ sound a bit disappointed. And he couldn't really blame him if Tung had him out doing stuff. "Well, alright. What exactly are you doing, though? Tung got you out scouting or something?"

He seemed relieved that Dean hadn't gotten mad. Understandable, as Dean knew he had a bit of a temper when it came to humans, even ghouls. "Actually, yeah. He's taken a liking to some new kin around Santa Monica. Says she's pretty popular so far, and he wants to track her and make sure she isn't a threat. Also, we've got a bit of a Kue-jin problem…"

"Ouch. Sorry, Knox, sounds like you and your master have got your hands full. I'll, uh… call back later. Maybe we can hang out in a week or two."

"Yeah, man! And don't worry, this is nothing me and Bertram can't handle. We'll be drinking up the Asylum in no time," He said, sounding extremely excited about it. Then again, Knox always sounded excited about things. Then he hung up.

Walking onwards toward the more gritty areas of downtown LA, Dean realized that he had entered the more populated, city-like area. He hadn't been to this particular side of the city, and it seemed like a really interesting place to be, honestly. Skyscrapers lined each side of the street. Large buildings that held thousands of apartments and rooms for the wealthy stretched upward, and there were a couple swanky looking nightclubs dotted about the place. He wondered how many kindred lived in this area of town.

He headed towards the even more dingy area a few streets down, walking under a bridged area. There were homeless hanging out in the underpass, and an alleyway that seemed to hold even more of them. Santa Monica had its fair share of homeless, but this was a bit ridiculous. He kept from meeting their eyes, as he knew they would take one look at him and ask for his cash - which he didn't have much of.

On the opposite side of the infested alleyway was a tiny building, barely two stories high, with a worn, wooden sign lit up by cheap lights. "The Last Round…" he murmured, reading it. A bar? He guessed there was only one way to find out.

He walked towards it and could already hear the deafening noise of rock music. This seemed like his kind of place! Intrigued, he stepped on through the shabby door. The music instantly filled his head, making it difficult to think. Not quite what he was used to, but he could easily adapt. Besides, this place looked exactly like what he was hoping for.

As Dean made his way inside, he tried to take in the sights and was hoping for a bar. Then, directly on his left, was one of the grittiest and most disgusting bars he could ever hope to see. Excited, he sat down and ordered a beer. he enjoyed the few minutes he had to myself until…

"New kid in town, right?"

He swung around in his stool to see a fairly similar-looking man. He had a dark blue shirt over a dirtied, white tank and some shaggy jeans. His hair was a messy dark brown, and he had a fancy little goatee going on as well. It was almost like looking in the mirror - that mirror having a bit more tidy facial hair, that is. "Uh, not really. Been here about a year or so."

The mirror looked perplexed. "Really? I haven't seen you around here," he mumbled, almost to himself, before taking the seat next to Dean.

Dean let out a soft laugh. "Yeah, I don't get out much. Not really in my nature."

The mirror smirked, looking at Dean through the corner of his eyes. That look said a lot, but Dean couldn't seem to figure out any of it. "Really? I would think that your nature would compel you outside quite a bit."

Now this intrigued Dean. Was this guy kin as well, or was he just a good judge of character? "Well, I don't get out much in the _day_, anyways. I tend to stick to my little apartment in Santa Monica."

The mirror nodded then, licking his lips before gulping down what was left of his beer. "Yep. Almost everyone here is like that, too. Even big Benny here," he said, a little louder while raising his now empty bottle. The bartender sulked over, scowling as he handed Dean's mirror another one, then walked back to his group of chatty cathies on the end.

"So you're all…?"

"Kindred, yeah. You couldn't tell? This is basically the Anarch base here in Los Angeles," he said, looking almost skeptical of Dean's lack of knowledge.

"Well, naw, I couldn't really tell. I wasn't lying when I said that I don't get out much. I hang out with Knox and Trip over in Santa Monica, but really I don't get deep into the gritty LA, if I can help it. I know the kind of political shit that's always going on down here, and I don't want any part of it," Dean told him straight. If he let the mirror know that he wasn't interested in hearing the Anarch-ian plight, then maybe he'd fuck off about it.

Dean got a bit of the stink eye before the mirror turned from him, took a huge swig of the beer, and then turned back to Dean, looking refreshed. "So, you're name, newbie?"

"Dean McMaron. Call me Dean. And you?" he held out his hand.

The mirror took it, shaking it roughly before grunting out, "Nines Rodriguez."

There was another long, comfortable silence as they both took a while to drink at least half of their beers. When the blaring music started to drill into his head enough that he didn't really notice it much anymore, he glanced at Nines. "So. You're an Anarch, then?"

"Yep."

Blunt. Okay… "And what clan are you?" Clans had always fascinated him for some reason. He knew that they were strangely important in knowing, so you knew how to deal with some people. Every kindred was different, of course, but a lot of times they were easier to handle if you knew just a little of what to expect from them.

"Brujah." Oh, great, a rabble-rouser. Dean should have guessed, him being an Anarch and all. But you know, you can never know. Or whatever, you get it. "Yours?"

Shit. He also should have known Nines would throw the question back at him. "Um… well, it's complicated, really."

That got him to look at Dean, bringing his beer from his lips and his head tilting, almost as if he was exasperated. "Shit, don't tell me you're dhampir or a thin-blood or… something. We don't need another half-twit here, goddammit."

Dean let out a laugh before looking him in the eye. "No, I'm not a half-breed. Well, at least I'm pretty sure I'm not. Just Caitiff is all."

Surprisingly, Nines let out a sigh of relief and returned to his drink. "Thank god, man. At least you're actually a vampire. _Jesus_." He looked at Dean through the corner of his eyes, noticing his confused expression. "We get a lot of weirdos around here," he explained further.

Dean laughed out loud at that, taking a swig of his own bottle. "Yeah… Hate to break it to you, bud, but you're in LA. You're going to find a lot of weirdos."

Sneering, Nines turned to the side, looking away from Dean and at some couple in the corner. When he looked back at Dean, he seemed a lot more aggravated. "You think I don't know that?" He looked back in the corner again before growling and getting up. "Hang on a minute…"

Dean watched as Nines stalked over towards the couple, who he was now taking a good look at. There was another guy there, average height with a disgusting, kind of cool beard. It looked like he was wearing strictly black denim, and showing as much body hair as was possible in a public place. Next to him was a short woman, wearing a t-shirt and capris. What stood out most was her army hat, though, and that ultra-bright red hair, with lips to match.

Nines was talking to them now, seeming very angry for some reason. Dean tried to tune his ears to their conversation, but to be honest his hearing was never very good, even now that he'd been a vampire for 40-some years. Plus, the music wasn't helping any.

They talked for quite a while, and Dean decided not to stare like an idiot and turned back to the bartender to grab another beer. After around 5 minutes went by, Nines was finally coming back to the bar, with his two friends in tow. None of them looked too happy.

"Hey, Dean… We need to ask you a few questions," said Nines, sitting back in the stool next to him, his friends filling on either side of us.

"Uh… sure."

"Wasn't really a question, McMaron." The woman with red hair said from her spot on the other side of him, snarling. What was this?

"What the _hell_, guys?"

She ignored him, and when he looked towards Nines, he simply seemed indifferent. The chick was barking at Dean again. "We hear you been hanging around Knox."

What the…? "Yeah, he's like my best bud. Why the fuck is that important?"

She ignored the question. "You been hanging with his master, too? What about the other Santa Monica ghouls? Buddy-buddy with them as well?"

Anger started rising, quicker by the minute. "Fuck you say? Why would he hang with any of those pricks? All they do is moan about shit they gotta do," he growled at her, getting ready to up and leave the place. She narrowed her eyes, seeming to not believe him. "Why the hell is that important, anyway? Shit, you act like they're out to get you or something. Jesus."

Finally, Nines spoke back up. "They are. All of them are Camarilla pawns, don't you get it? They could have sent you to spy on us, or even attack us."

"Wouldn't survive it, anyhow," Red pitched in.

"You can never be too cautious in this world, you know?" The hairy guy finally said, sitting on the other side of Nines so he couldn't see him well.

This was crazy. "You can. It's called being _paranoid_." It looked as if Nines was going to start up on his soap box again, so Dean cut him off. "You know, I just wanted a fun night out with my best friend, Knox, but he was too busy! So I come here, looking for a beer and maybe a babe, but I must have been taking a piss if I thought I might get a bit of a break on my 63rd birthday! Fucking hell, this isn't worth my night…" he started to get up and leave, but Nines grabbed his arm, strong enough to stop him but not enough to keep him there. Dean tugged it from his grip and sneered at him, willing him to just leave him alone.

"Look, Dean, I'm sorry. But Jack's right; you can never be too careful. At least, if you're rolling with us. We're the minority anymore, and the whole world seems to be against us. Especially in LA, 'cause honestly, there's only like fifty of us. And, what, a couple hundred Cammies?"

"Goddamn Capes everywhere…" murmured a still angry Red next to Dean.

He still wasn't convinced that the whole reason they had ganged up on him was because they were 'paranoid'. They seemed like too cool of a group to be scared shitless of the Camarilla. Though, to be honest, he hadn't heard much about the Camarilla at that point, and didn't know jack shit who and what exactly they did. "Look," he sighed, turning back towards the rest of the crowd. "I'm not into sects, sides, or groups. I just wanted a bar to hang out at until the sun rose. If you're not going to let me do that, I might as well be outta here. 'Cause I don't want nothing to do with your shitty politics and fucking paranoia. Got it?"

Nines seemed to get angered - once again - by this, but the hairy guy - Jack, apparently - got up before he could say anything. "You're right, kiddo, we're sorry. Right, Nines? Damsel?" When they didn't respond, he nudged Nines harshly and gave Red - Damsel - the stink-eye. "Right?"

"Right," the others said in unison, as if being scolded by a cross parent. Strange, to see the two most temperamental Anarchs be sent to bed without dinner. Unwillingly, he let out a bark of laughter, which earned a searing glare from Nines.

Sitting back at the bar, Dean ordered one more drink before turning back to Nines once again. "So you the leader or something?"

Nines looked at be out of the corner of his eye, as if the entire interrogation scene hadn't even happened. "No. No one's a leader here, no one's higher up on the food chain, the corporate chain, or whatever the hell you wanna think up. We're all equals here. That's what we don't like about the Camarilla. That's what we fight for." He seemed so dedicated, so sincere about what he was saying that it almost made Dean feel bad about calling them paranoid earlier. Almost.

They had a few more drinks before Dean was ready to pack up and head out, back onto the streets of LA. He grabbed a beer to go and promised to return to the Last Round at some point in the near future. As if. That place was a nuthouse, even if the people seemed okay… ish.

When he got back to his motel room, it took him a bit to get get the door open, as the cheap lock was stuck. Again. He started to contemplate simply knocking the door in, but as soon as the thought crossed his mind, the lock relented as if it had read his mind. When he flipped the lights on, he immediately noticed that the chick from earlier was still laying on his bed, passed out cold. It had at least been five hours, what the hell was she still doing here?

He struggled with his inner beast for a long while, not wanting to give in to it, but also not wanting to pass the opportunity up. Dean was a handsome man, sure, but really he was considered lowlife among most, and it was rare that he found a willing victim, even if he have to pay her. It could be a hell of a long time before he was able to feed again.

The temptation proved too strong this time, and he snuck over to the bed, laying back down against her. He had to argue with himself again, in a last minute attempt for reason to try and stop hunger, but eventually hunger one once again. He placed his teeth in the same spot as before, reopening the newly closed wound. Instantly, a wave of blood poured into his mouth, and he had to wonder just how little he had originally taken. After a minute, the blood began to mix with the alcohol in his system, and was creating a strangely addicting buzz through his veins.

He realized, after a while of indulgence, that he was drinking quite a lot. It seemed, unfortunately, that this buzz seemed a bit too addictive, and he ended up drinking too much. Damn. Dean had to force himself to pull away from the weakened vein to look at the poor woman that had somehow become his victim. Her skin was as pale as snow, and her breathing was diminishing to the point of nonexistence. He watched as she opened her eyes, looked at him, and let out one more breath before dropping her gaze and letting loose her muscles.

Cursing again, he got up from the bed in a hurry. Why, he didn't know. Running his hand through his rough brown hair, he sighed heavily before turning his gaze back to the woman. he walked back to the bedside and lifted the poor girl's body up. He brought her outside, searching for a dumpster to drop her body into. After a moment or two, he found one in the back of the motel lobby and quietly lifted her inside. He felt bad. Really, he did. But there's only so much a kindred can do after the events. Besides, she was living on the streets. It's not as if anyone would notice when she was gone.

Dean walked back to the motel room, and started to clean up the rest of the blood that had been left after the second feeding. He dabbed at the sheets, and his own mouth, and soon laid down to sleep.

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**A/N #2 - **Well! That was a bit of an introduction, huh? I know a few bits here and there are rough, but I lack a beta reader and my own scanning skills aren't what they used to be (so says the 16-year-old haha). I will likely go back and edit a few paragraphs that don't suit me, or maybe add a little more dialogue or something somewhere down the line, as I expect this to be my largest story yet, and I will probably grow a bit in style or otherwise as I go along.

As stated in the beginning, I will update this every two Fridays. So, that puts Chapter 2 at... January 24th, 2014. Hope to see you then! :)


	2. Of Boats and Pretty Women

**A/N - **A little bit later than I had expected it to be, but I still managed to get this out by Friday! I barely was able to eek out the ending, however, and you'll probably be able to tell. Though it isn't that important of a plot point, I think I will like to go back and add more to it at a later date. However, for now, it will be fine as it is. :)

_ StarGazers_ - Thanks! Don't worry - Dean is even goofier. Haha!And yeah, I'm not a believer in the vampire drunkenness either. But I suspect they can still drink it, and I figured some of them might still just like the taste, as is the case with Dean. Just something to do, I suppose.

_ aberdeenkev - _Thank you! And yes, this takes place somewhat - just - before, and during, as you will see in this chapter, to far after. (no spoiling though!)

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**2. Of Boats and Pretty Women**

A couple days after his birthday, Dean still hadn't seen Knox. It was starting to worry him, honestly, but he kept trying to tell himself that he was merely busy with the tons of shit Tung would always give him. It didn't help much. That nagging feeling of… wrong still stood over him. Though, to be honest, it wasn't really in his nature to worry that much, and the fact that he was worrying was what was worrying him most. If that made sense. ...Probably not. Whatever. Point is, he still hadn't had any of the fun that he had originally wanted.

Though that's kind of how it works in unlife. You live so long as a carefree kind of guy, you start to get bored real fast. Which could be especially deadly, since vampires, well… kind of live forever and stuff. And so ever since he'd moved to LA, he kind of took to walking around every night. Hitting bars, chatting with buds, or basically just sleeping away weeks at a time was really all that fitted into his schedule anymore. It was absolutely boring.

He had thought about getting a job, working his way up a corporate ladder, or maybe even simply getting a hobby, but really nothing ever seemed to interest him anymore. Everything that had originally been interesting to him died in the 60s, along with everything else that he had known and loved. Really, the past few years had been hitting him the hardest with the nostalgia. If only he had studied in his science class, he might be able to create a time machine. Though, honestly, he wasn't sure how realistic that thought was. Oh well.

Dean realized that he had walked all the way back to the Last Round again, strangely enough, and he wondered briefly if he had subconsciously wanted to come back here. But then, he wasn't really much of a deep thinker, and that wondering didn't last long. He didn't really want to go in, either, as his last trip hadn't been one of the most fun he had ever had.

As he started on by, however, something caught his eye. He turned to get a better view, and was instantly intrigued. A beautiful woman, with short black hair and pale skin, was walking gracefully from the Last Round. She seemed a bit miffed, and he took that as an invitation to try and make her smile, make her feel better. Grinning, he practically skipped across the street to meet her.

As he approached, she noticed him and scowled. Oh, such a lovely sight she was. If his heart was still beating, it would have beat out of his chest. He stepped right in front of her, getting as close as he could. He was sure that she needed a bit of company to wipe that frown off her face.

Unfortunately, she didn't seem at all better off from his presence. Typically, this wouldn't have surprised him, as he seemed to be a sort of pretty woman repellant. But she hardly seemed like a typical woman to Dean. So he leaned in, not letting her scowl bother him.

"Get out of my face."

Well, that wasn't a very nice thing for her to say to a perfect stranger, let alone one that simply wanted to make her feel better. He lowered his smile slightly, to try and subtly show his hurt feelings. "Ma'am, I simply came to comfort - " he had reached out to try and grasp her hand to do the gentlemanly thing and give it a slight peck, but she had yanked it back, cutting his speech off.

"Shut the fuck up, imbecile. I don't have time for this." She scowled once again, shoving past him and picking up the pace of her walking.

Dean jogged a bit to try and catch up, then matched her pace. "Oh, c'mon, I was only joking. I just wanted to say hi, how's it going?"

She scoffed then, not responding. Damn, she was a tough one to crack the shell of.

"At least tell me your name," he said slowly, trying to sound less like a lecher on the street and more like an actually nice guy. Surprisingly, she slowed down then, coming to a full stop. He had to stop and backtrack a bit to level with her again. She held a high suspicion in her eyes, and she seemed to almost distrust him. As if she had any reason to distrust Dean, a random man on the streets of downtown LA, at night. Oh, wait…

"And why should I do that?" she asked, apprehension still high in her voice, along with exasperation.

Dean smirked. "Because I wanna know. And because you just walked out of the Last Round, a place that I know very well. You wanna tell me what you were doing there?" Not the most friendly way of starting small talk, but at least it was something.

She laughed, though it was a bit high-and-mighty sounding. Was this chick a moneybags or what? 'Cause she sure acted like she was queen of the world. Already he didn't like her much. However, when she let out a particularly loud laugh, he saw the tiny tips of her canines. She was kin. Oops. "I'll give you that. Though I'm quite a regular myself, and I haven't seen you around much either…" she trailed off, but her tone made it sound like she didn't expect a retort. "Ariane Noel," she breathed out finally, her smile fading ever so slightly.

Dean grinned. She must have realized his being kin at the same time he'd noticed hers. "Dean McMaron."

She smiled wider. "Ah, so you're the one mucking up their little headquarters, then? Heard you were a bit of a brawler a couple days ago. Giving the boys a hard time?" She said slowly, as if testing for something. He had no idea what.

"Um, I guess you could say that, yeah. 'Cept I wasn't brawling. Just wanted to let the Anarchs know where I stand with them. I don't want any part of their stupid vampire politics, you know?"

She rolled her eyes, though still grinning. She started walking down the street, then, but slow enough for Dean to match her pace. "Tell me about it. They seem like they could be a fun bunch, but get to know them, and all they do is nag, nag, nag all the time. It's ridiculous."

They rounded a corner, passing another block. "What's their beef with LaCroix, anyway? I know they've got it out for all the Camarilla, but it's like the head honcho really gets to them."

She sighed. "Yeah, they've got a thing for little guy, y'know? And LaCroix, well… he isn't little. In fact, he's a bit of a bigwig, and I suppose it's really just they way he rubs them wrong. Just the kind of… person he is, really, that they don't like. They don't even know the half of it." She paused, looking down the street a ways before turning back to he with a cool gaze. "Sorry for the way I acted earlier, by the way. I'm not very popular around here, given who I work for. Everyone likes to pick on the pawn, I suppose."

Huh? "What do you mean? Who do you work for?"

She looked at Dean as if she didn't believe that he didn't know. As if she expected him to know everything happening in the world. Why didn't people actually believe that Dean was new here? "LaCroix. I thought you knew."

Dean was a bit shocked, but honestly, he didn't know the guy and he didn't know her, so he had no room to judge. "Um… no, I didn't. Though I don't care much, really. I don't know much about LA yet - I don't really think it's any of my business, either."

She looked at Dean as if amazed. "Huh," she said simply, rounding another corner and coming up to a taxi car. She paused outside the door, clutching the handle but looking at him as if expecting some sort of answer to an unspoken question. Finally, she sighed and said, "Well, goodnight."

He wasn't expecting that. Though, he should have been, given that she was just getting ready to get into a taxi and apparently leave. But he stood there a moment, staring at her, trying to think of something to say. Finally it clicked, and he took a step closer. "Where are you going, anyway? Maybe I could come along?"

She seemed a little caught off guard. "Um…"

Dean started speaking quickly. "I'm bored as ass out here anyway, and to be honest, I've got nothing else better to do. You're obviously going on a bit of an adventure… am I right?" he winked, grinning crookedly, like he knew all the ladies loved.

She seemed skeptical at first, but then sighed and scooted into the car. "Get in."

* * *

It was a boat. A fucking huge boat, too. Well… not _huge_, really, but still… big. Called the Dane or something. Apparently she was running an errand for LaCroix, something he hadn't expected. Though, to be fair, she did say that she was his number one pawn, and really… what else do pawns to but run errands? But still. A boat?

"Jacobson never told me there'd be two of you! How am I supposed to let two reporters in without anyone realizing who let them in?" So apparently this wasn't part of the plan, but Ariane seemed to know what she was doing.

"My partner and I were very specific. We both need to get in, as we are a team and cannot do any shooting without the other," she said pristinely, putting on an air of superiority. Or maybe that was just her, he didn't know.

The cop looked her over, then Dean. He squinted his eyes. "Where's your equipment?"

Dean started panicking, but Ariane had it all under control. "Concealed, of course. How else do you think we'd make it to the security room without anyone noticing? We must be light on our feet if we expect to slip by silently." She paused, mostly for dramatic effect. "We've done this many times before; don't worry. You're job's safe with us. You have my word."

He seemed still reluctant, but finally sighed and looked her in the eye. "Fine. The password to the security computers is 'lighthouse', all one word. I'll distract the one over there. After that, you're gonna' have to make yourself real scarce. If you get caught, I don't know you. Got it?"

Ariane simply nodded, and walked back towards the side of the ship they came up on, and hid to let the cop do his job. "Get down," she whispered to Dean, pushing on his back to force him down as she dropped as well. He fell in beside her.

The cop saw that they were down and ready, and hollered out to the other cop blocking the way into a hall. "Yo, come check this out! I just saw a baleen whale!" Ariane kept rapt eyes on the other cop, and as he leisurely strode toward their 'inside man', she grabbed Dean's hand and tugged as she started her way across the boat again.

When they got to the other side of the room, Ariane took one last glance back at the two cops and ducked into the hallway. Dean was desperately trying to get a grasp on where exactly Ariane was going, but he was being dragged about this way and that, and had barely enough time to notice the large stains of blood along the walls, and doors that just wouldn't close. At first it seemed as if Ariane knew exactly where she was going, as confident as she was, but as Dean started to pay attention more, he realized they were actually backtracking more than they were moving forward.

Finally, after wandering through the small hall and the rooms connected to it, they reached a staircase. Having already tried the other doors in the lower level, she sighed and pulled Dean up the steps. At the top of the stairs where only two doors, and Dean thanked whatever higher being there was just for that. She chose the one closest to the top of the stairs first. Easing it open slowly, she peaked inside. Instead of heading on in like the previous rooms they had looked in, she quickly backed away and shut the door quietly. At his questioning look, Ariane whispered to Dean, "Guards."

Padding quietly over to the other door, she opened this one with more caution. Luckily, no one was inside this time, and she stepped inside. After a moment, she looked back outside the door and gave Dean a look. "Well, come on," she whispered. "This is it. One look at the cameras and we're out of here."

After Dean followed her in, she motioned toward a computer and a couple of monitors. They both huddled around the screens, and after a moment, Dean looked at her. "Well?"

She scowled at him for at least the tenth time that night, and turned back to the computer. "Hold your goddamn horses." She paused once again for good measure, probably just to piss Dean off, then, finally, typed the password into the computer.

The display on the other monitor clicked on, and on it was a distorted picture of an area on the boat. Dean figured it was a camera view, and sure enough, it flickered again to show another awkwardly placed angle. Dean looked over at Ariane, wondering what exactly they should be looking for. He was about to ask just that when another view popped up. Eyeing it closely, she gasped. "It's been opened."

"What? What's been opened?"

She motioned toward the monitor, pointing to the focus of the camera. It was some sort of fancy coffin, and had caution tape all around it. It looked like it could have been a piece of art in some fancy gallery, or something in a museum of Egyptian history or some shit. Like it came out of those old history books Teach' used to make him read. It looked as if it was sealed tight, but there was blood on the side, dripping down and puddling.

Dean was brought out of his observings by Ariane sinking from her crouch onto the floor, her hands splayed across her lap in defeat. "God, LaCroix's going to kill me."

"What? Why, all you did was do what he asked."

She shook her head. "Yeah, but he kind of has a thing for shooting the messenger." She sighed, letting her head droop for a moment before turning to the side and getting back up. "But it'll be fine, he'll just shout and pout, then send me on his next errand." She scoffed then, sitting back on her haunches and turning around. "Well, let's head out. We're done here."

Getting back was easier than it had been to get there, as they knew their way around now. Heading back out the door of the control room and down the stairs, the two kindred sneakily passed the guards from before. It seemed as if that baleen whale wasn't nearly as exciting as the one cop had made it out to be, unfortunately.

Luckily they passed everyone without much trouble, and climbed silently down the ladder on the side of the Dane. After plopping back down onto the boat, Ariane started up the engine and sped off into the night, a very relieved and tired Dean along with her.

Back in Santa Monica, they were about halfway through the parking garage when Dean finally spoke up. "So… Why exactly was Princess so interested in that coffin?"

It took a while before Ariane answered, as if she was thinking about an appropriate response. Finally, she sighed before speaking up. "I'm not really sure, honestly. I just got back from my job here in Santa Monica before he asked me to check out the Dane. Said something about an important relic that may hold a great power." She paused looking distant for a moment before turning back to Dean. "He tried to convince me and say that the reason he wanted it was because 'the power could fall into the wrong hands'. But I knew it was because he wanted it for himself. Whatever 'it' is…"

Dean thought a moment before they exited the garage. "Well, obviously it's a mummy or something. Maybe it's some old vampire guy."

Ariane laughed at that. "Well why the hell would LaCroix want it then? If there was some dead dude in there, undead or not, why would he work for LaCroix? Obviously if he's dead dead, then he isn't much use at all. If he's undead, he'd be a heck of a lot older than LaCroix. And the way I've seen it work so far, the older, the more powerful. If anything, LaCroix'd work for him."

Dean laughed at that, wrapping his right hand around the back of his neck to try and wring out the stress of the night. It had been a hell of a lot more busy night than most these days, and Dean was starting to wear a bit. Yawning after a pause, he turned the corner with Ariane in tow.

They walked past a few more buildings and came to an alleyway next to Trip's Pawn Shop. Smirking, Dean turned around to look Ariane in the eyes. "This is my stop. It's not pretty, I know, but it's mine - for now."

Ariane looked up at him, a bit surprised. "Actually, this is my stop as well."

Of course she would be living in the same building as him. That was the cliche, right? "Oh," he mumbled, before reaching for the door and opening it for her. "In that case, come on in."

Ariane still looked a little shocked, but she shuffled in anyways. Heading up the stairs, she looked back to make sure Dean was following her. Right in tow, as she had suspected. And grinning like an idiot. "I guess this is the part where I'm supposed to invite you in," she smirked, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

He laughed at that, giving her an alluring gaze. "Not if you don't want to, sweetie." He paused, noting her expression. She seemed even more interested than before. Smirking, he nodded to the side, indicating his apartment that was only just down the stairs from her. "Or, if you want… we could head on into my place."

"Yeah, because going into the apartment of a man I just met on the street is a really smart thing to do," she said, though still smirking.

Dean put on a face. "Oh, darling, you wound me," he drawled out, mimicking a posh English accent. "I did so think we had grown closer than that."

She laughed out loud at that, rolling her eyes. "I don't actually think that's a saying. But..." she paused, looking toward his door, then back to him. "That sounded strangely like LaCroix, I gotta say it."

He scoffed. "I hardly think I'm much like your bossy-boss. In fact, I'll bet you we wouldn't get along well at all."

A loud laugh and a shove got him through the door and into his apartment. It took him by surprise, to say the least, but he wasn't complaining... much. The fact that she had started to attack his face, however, was another matter.

Her lips crashing into his repeatedly was a shock, but he didn't fight back. The searing kisses were pressed all over his mouth, and grazed his stubbled jaw and neck as they deviously trailed downwards. He was being pushed about the room, but he hardly noticed. Something was bumped and fell, crashing against the dirty rug. They didn't notice, or if they did, they didn't care.

A few more moments of awkwardly trying to steer Dean around, Ariane shoved him fiercely in the opposite direction. Suddenly, he slammed against a wall with a hard, painful thud. Ariane was back on him in an instant.

After the initial shock of the wall to his head, Dean started eagerly peeling off the clothing of his soon-to-be friend with benefits. He tried desperately to pull up her tight-fitted tanktop, but it didn't want to seem to budge, what with her wrapped tightly around his waist. After a struggle, Dean managed to pull away from Ariane long enough to pull it off her and over her head. She immediately latched back onto his lips.

After a long struggle, eventually - somehow, they both were able to get undressed and onto the bed. Throughout the rest of the night and through to dawn, Ariane dominated over Dean. He didn't seem to care though, as it had been quite a while since he had gotten any action. In fact, he quite enjoyed it.

* * *

**A/N #2 - **As I said before, I will probably come back and change that ending... Maybe make it more juicier, or longer, or whatnot. The internet went down at my house and I wasn't able to put this up until midnight, so it's a bit rushed. My apologies. As for the next chapter, it will be... *consults calender*... February 7th!

**EDIT - **Unfortunately had a bit of a busy couple of weeks. There will be an update on next Friday - February 14. Just for the wait, I'll be posting _two_ chapters.


	3. The Corporate Ladder

**A/N - **Short chapter, I know, and full of dialogue. But it kind of had to be done. Sorry for the wait as well! But happy Valentine's Day!

_Alia-Mael - _I know, right? It's what inspired me to try and write something - we need more of the Masquerade! Haha, but thanks for the compliments. :)

* * *

**3. The Corporate Ladder**

Dean woke up to a pair of pants being thrown in his face. Spluttering, he pulled them off awkwardly and tossed them to the floor. Grumbling a couple unintelligible swear words, he sat up and blearily looked around the room. Just when he was about to lay back down, a loud noise brought him back.

"Ahem!"

He looked right at the source this time, his thoughts finally becoming coherent even to himself. Ariane, clad in a bright green tank top, dark shorts, and knee-high boots was staring back at him, her arms crossed. When their eyes met, she rose an eyebrow at him.

"You getting up anytime soon, loverboy?" she drawled, a small smirk pulling at her lips.

It was then that Dean realized he was actually naked. Not that he really cared, mind, it's just that it was a surprise. He ran his fingers through his tousled brown hair and sighed. Was it night already? He rubbed the sleep away from his eyes. "God, Ari, it's…" he paused, looking sideways at his clock. "...midnight. Hm. Nevermind."

Ariane laughed, shaking her head. "C'mon. I want you to meet the boss."

It took a moment for her words to sink in, but when they did, his eyes went wide. "Wait, what? Meet LaCroix? When you had to go on and on about how he was going to yell and have a fit?" Dean shook his head, grabbing a smaller blanket from the bed and wrapping it around his shoulders before getting up. It was still cold, man. "What makes you think he'd even want to know someone went with you? Wouldn't he be mad?"

Ariane laughed at the display, seeing Dean wrapped in the blanket like a small child. "He'll be fine. He's like a baby that got it's candy taken away." She sighed, leaning against the wall on the other side of the room. "Besides, if you're there, you can take a few hitpoints as well. Though I doubt he'd dish many out on you."

Dean huffed, but walked over to his dresser anyway. "Fine. But only because I'm curious about this bigwig of yours. Is he built? He's gotta be rich, right?" Why the sudden interest in the personal affairs of this guy, Dean didn't know. Curiosity kind of killed him before, anyhow.

Ariane laughed again, pushing off from the wall and walking towards the door. "As if. He's the cutest little man you'll ever see. Rich, but… well, tiny," she laughed as she walked out.

Smirking, Dean pulled the rest of his clothes on and bounded off after her. "So he's a shortie? Aww."

She practically ran down the stairs and out the side door, into the alleyway. "Tsk. Don't let him hear you saying that."

They walked in near silence as Ariane lead Dean to the next street, and in front of the Asylum. There were people walking all around, and almost crowding the entrance to the nightclub. It was doing pretty good lately. Dean wondered if any of them actually knew who its owner was…

Ariane pulled Dean past the nightclub and farther down the street. The image of a yellow taxi appeared and Dean figured Ariane had called it earlier. Sure enough, she opened the door and stepped inside, scooting to make room for him. Getting situated, Dean shifted and pulled the door closed while Ariane told the driver where to go. Dean wasn't paying much attention, fumbling with the seatbelt and cursing when it wouldn't pull far enough. He let it go and snapped it back, pouting.

"Oh, get over it. If that's getting you frustrated, just wait till you talk to LaCroix," Ariane scolded, her seatbelt perfectly situated and looked absolutely comfortable, as if she sat in the seat every night. It only served to anger Dean more.

Grumbling under his breath, Dean turned from her and looked out the window as the city passed them by. "You're the reason I'm going anyway. If you get in trouble because of me, it's your fault."

"Stop pouting. You're acting like a child, Dean. If there's one thing vampire society won't tolerate, it's childishness. I'm amazed you haven't been dusted yet."

If Dean's blood could still move, it'd be boiling. "Look here, Ariane Noel. I might not be the most mature vampire to ever exist, but I'm sure as hell more experienced than you, and a shit ton older. So shut your yap and mind your place."

Ariane seemed to anger just as much as him. "Oh? You don't even know how old I am! I could be at least 300!"

He snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, and I'm William of Normandy." She was about to retort, but Dean wasn't done yet. "I can smell n00bness a mile away, fledgling. And besides that, why else would LaCroix employ you if you weren't expendable? Hm? He wouldn't risk killing someone old enough to have some sort of influence over his domain." He paused, finally looking her in the eye again. "I might not know the guy, but I know his type. You're a little babe, and he's using you to do his dirty work until you die off and he finds a new one."

Ariane was silent after that, excepting his argument. She knew she was just being used. She didn't care, she had other plans. But this Dean… had her confused. Finally, she broke the silence. "So just how old are you, then?"

He laughed, as if it was a silly question. "You're not going to believe this, but not very." When she didn't laugh at his obvious sarcasm, he sighed and said, "63."

"Alright, grandpa," she laughed, looking away for the moment.

Dean chuckled in turn, their previous argument done for the moment. "Hey, at least I'm not a great-grandpa. Or great-great-great-great-grandpa. We've got tons here. I'm still young too, compared to a lot of the LA kindred."

"True."

After around another ten minutes, the taxi finally arrived at what Dean assumed was Venture Tower. They were only a block or so from the Last Round, ironically, but Dean tried not to think too much about the political implications to that.

Ariane got out first, looking almost nervous, and waited for Dean to walk up next to her before she even reached the doors. They walked to the fancy double doors together, and Dean took the courtesy to push one open for her, following close after.

Dean immediately saw the receptionist. He was a burly man, dressed as a security guard. Well, it was night, Dean reasoned with himself. The daytime receptionist would be off now. Ariane walked up to the guy, smiling charmingly. "Heyya, Chunk. How's about letting us up to see the boss?"

"Sure thing, Pumpkin. He's been waiting for you anyways." He looked past Ariane, to Dean. "I don't seem to recall meetin' you before, though, sir. You with Annie here?"

Dean tried hard not to laugh. "Yes, Sir, I am."

Chunk grinned then, nodding. "Cool beans. I'll let the boss know you're comin' up. Elevator's a-waitin'."

"Thanks, Officer Chunk," Ariane chirped before grabbing Dean's arm again and pulling him up the stairs behind the receptionist's desk. He didn't like that he was being pulled around all the time, as it seemed to be happening every chance Ariane got. Grumbling, he pulled his arm from hers and looked her in the eye as she whipped her head around. An unspoken argument occurred, then she turned back around and headed up at a much more leisurely pace, Dean following a little farther back.

The elevator ride up was silent. Dean took the moment to check out the scenery. Of the small room. With plain wallpaper and some buttons on the wall. Yeah, truly inspiring imagery.

When the door dinged, and Ariane reached to pull at Dean, then stopped herself. Must have been more of a habit than Dean thought. Almost inaudibly, she growled in frustration and walked on, down the dark hallway.

The first thing Dean noticed was the darkness of the corridor. There were lights on the ceiling, but they just didn't seem to be turned on. Probably because kindred didn't need light to see in the dark. The kine that worked here during the day probably were the only reason why there were lights to begin with.

After what seemed like a mile-long walk through the hallways, Ariane led Dean through one more turn, and he immediately noticed the difference. There were two large, lighter doors with fancy markings in the wood. Light streamed from under the doors, a small crack between the wood and the floor. Of course this would be LaCroix's office. With a bigwig such as Prince LaCroix, Dean was surprised that he didn't work in a castle.

Ariane knocked gently, then pulled away from the door wearily. Was she scared? Then she grunted, as if exasperated, and walked forward briskly, pushing open the huge door and letting the light from inside the room flood the hallway and Dean's eyes.

Blinking, Dean followed Ariane inside and waited for the anger to come. Or at least some accusations as to why there was another guest with her. But there was nothing. Finally Dean actually took a look around, deciding that he wasn't going to instantly die if he noticed anything. The place was fancy. And huge. Blue wallpaper lines gold, intricate designs over parts of the walls, as if panelling different parts of the room. A hardwood floor, perfectly polished and pristine, demanded that Dean stay on the red rug in the center of the room.

Of course Dean defied it, and stepped off almost instantly. Though no one seemed to care, or for that matter, notice. Ariane had immediately walked towards Princess and had been talking to him for a while. LaCroix didn't even seem to acknowledge Dean, let alone care that he was there. Huffing in slight annoyance, he walked over towards Princess, taking in his sights.

The guy was a bit of a shortie, just like Ariane had said. He was dressed nicely, with a long coat disguised as a suit. Or maybe it was, and Dean had just never seen one like it before. Either way, it made him look nice and neat, tidy. His blond hair was swept to the side, neatly in its place where it could do no harm. His skin was deathly pale, meaning he was fairly older than most (as most kindreds' skin loses color as they age), and his eyes were an unearthly pale blue. He could be considered handsome by some, but to be perfectly honest, Dean didn't care at all. He was too transfixed with just how short the poor guy was.

It was then that Dean realized he was being examined as well. Princess was looking him over, suspicion held high in his eyes. Then he glanced back over to Ariane, a small sneer starting at his lips. "And you took this man with you?"

Ariane nodded, looking proud despite how much Dean knew she was nervous. "Yes, sir. He proved quite usef - "

LaCroix cut her off. "I don't care how he proved, fledgling, I only care that you disobeyed me." He looked as if he was about to explode, but then suddenly held it in control. A long blink and a deep breath later, he spoke again. "Did you at least do as I asked?"

"Yes, sir, I did." She reached into her bag and pulled out the papers they had acquired on the ship. "As for the actual scene, it was as if the sarcophagus had been opened from the inside. A handprint was on the side, and the lid was skewed."

"Opened?! How could it have been opened? That's not possible." It wasn't even as if he was angry, and Ariane seemed to relax at that. He was more disappointed with the outcome rather than her as well, which was also a relief.

"I did some research this morning, sir, and I believe they have taken it to the Museum of Natural History," she finished, looking proud with herself for being useful.

"Oh! Good, good. You must go there, and retrieve it. However, the situation will be the same as it was with the Elizabeth Dane. Do not kill anyone."

"Of course." And she started out, reaching to grab Dean once again but stopping herself. "Come on, Dean," she whispered, walking out towards the big doors again.

"Hold, kindred." Princess's voice sounded from behind Dean as he was about to walk out. Ariane paused too, looking back at her boss in confusion.

"Yeah?" Dean asked casually, refusing to be his puppy as Ariane was.

"You were truly useful to Ariane during her mission?"

Dean was a little caught off guard, having not been addressed otherwise through the whole meeting. "Uh… I guess so. I just kind of tagged along."

Princess seemed to think over something for a moment, before his pale blue eyes looked up at Dean with a new flickering idea behind them. "Would you be willing to do a job for me?"

Dean thought for a moment. "Do I get paid?"

"Of course." He looked back at Ariane, who had yet to leave. "Fledgling, leave us. Do your job, and I will have a reward for you when you return." And she left. Turning back to Dean, he offered a wad of cash. "This is two hundred dollars. If you travel to the address on this slip of paper," he said as he handed Dean a small piece of printer paper. "And find a man by the name of Alistair Grout, I will give you the other half of your payment."

Dean grinned, taking the wad of cash from Princess's hands. Chuckling in disbelief, he said, "Sure, man! Go to the house, find Grout, come back, get cash. Got it." And he walked out, ready to get his next pay.


	4. Groutalicious

**A/N -** Almost the opposite of last chapters, but I promised a second chapter for the long wait! I hope you don't mind the lack of interactions here. I was really in the mood to write about Dean's experiences with Grout's mansion. I certainly found it weird enough.

* * *

**4. Groutalicious**

It was early - almost eight at night. The sun had only disappeared about an hour ago, and yet Dean still felt a little uneasy. He wasn't a wimp, of course, but some things just didn't fit into his schedule. Like going into a big, scary mansion in the middle of the night looking for some crazy vampire bigwig.

Stepping closer to the large gate, Dean reached out slowly to push at it. It was unlocked, and swung open easily. He thought this guy was crazy paranoid, why were his mansion gates completely unguarded? Just find the fucker and get out, Dean thought, and pushed it open farther so he could walk through.

Normally, Dean wouldn't be doing something like this. He may be a vampire, but that didn't mean he was keen on going into mansions to look for croaky old folks that just seem to disappear. But that's what Princess had asked for, and Ariane seemed to want him to go along with the boss. Dean hadn't minded at the time, but that was before he was confronted with just how fucking huge this place was.

But Dean was doing a favor, and for all his antics and childishness, he was true to his word. As if the mansion itself wasn't big enough, the doors towered easily over him. It was as if the whole place was saying 'You're an ant.' He reached up to push the doorbell, but there wasn't one. He then realized that there was a huge doorknocker. It was intricately carved, glossy eyes and extremely detailed feathers that turned into a fearsome-looking eagle.

Realizing that the doorknocker probably wouldn't be heard by a missing man, Dean took a deep (unnecessary, as he was technically dead) breath and grabbed a firm hold of the doorknob and turned it, pushing with enough force to ease it open silently.

The entryway was enormous. Just the quiet thump of his sneakers on the cold, linoleum floor echoed throughout the entire room. It was as if this place was built to contain a dragon... or two. The floors were a simple black and white tile. The walls, which stretched toward the ceiling, looked as if they were originally white, but had been worn and aged so much that they were almost yellow. Dark wood lined the creases of the room's corners, giving a well-balanced and architecturally ingenious design to the place.

Completely ignoring the aesthetics, Dean stepped lightly through the room. Even though the place was well-designed, there was barely any furniture. A dark red antique chair had been placed in the corner, but there was no other furniture to be seen. Fucking weird, he thought, before heading through the archway on the opposite side of the room.

The next room had the same tiling as the entryway, but the walls were a dark red - though it seemed as if they had been white before. Dean walked farther in, trying to step carefully. LaCroix had said that this man was literally insane, and he wasn't sure if this insanity equaled as paranoia. If it did, then there could be traps all over the place.

Suddenly, he heard a whisper pass by. It was like the sound a car makes as it whooshes past you, but it was quieter. The little hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

He shook of the eerie feeling and trudged on. He wasn't even close to being through here, and if he was going to find Grout, he was going to have to man up a bit. He passed through the room, and noticed a strange painting in the corner of his eye.

It was of a man - or something like it - with dark hair standing on all ends, as if in water. His eyes were demented, one looking out at the rest of the landscape, and the other directly at me. The background was composed of hundreds of colors, blending seamlessly together in a never-ending rainbow effect. Stars dotted below his face, and he seemed almost... scared of them. It was insane.

It was then that Dean realized the lighting in the room wasn't quite as clear as it was before. It was a sort of off-white when he came in - now it was an eerie sort of green, like when you stare at a bright light for too long before trying to look at something else. He blinked a few times before looking around once more and walking out.

As soon as he walked into the next room, he realized he was no longer alone. He whirled around to face the other presence, but there wasn't anyone there. He had heard someone there. He knew they were, and yet... he couldn't see them. Grout had mentioned in his recording that he was still studying psychosis. Did he have subjects? Were they just crazy humans, or were they Malkavian as well?

Cautiously, Dean took a few steps forward before turning left sharply and making a run for it. The telltale sound of Obfuscate - vampiric invisibility - could be heard behind him. A-ha! He knew it. A crazy, hostile vampire. He could deal with that.

He turned around again, making sure that he was quick enough to catch the beginnings of Obfuscate. Sure enough, he could see the rocky texture falling from thin air - almost as if an invisible bubble was shedding its dust all around the floor. The dust soon disappeared as well, but it was too late. Dean had already found him. He flung himself forward, and landed on... air. This guy was faster than he had thought. It would be somewhat of a challenge to get him.

Standing very still, Dean reached out with his ears. Again, his hearing was never very good, but it seemed as if it was the only thing he had at the moment. After a brief moment, he heard the wheezing of someone a little to the left. Lunging once again, he topple onto something heavy and solid. It was disorienting feeling something while seeing nothing. But Dean fumbled to find the vampire's arm against its will, and snapped it. A cry and some visibility later, Dean could finally see the little pest.

The vampire was young - incredibly young, as he still had flesh-colored skin and dark eyes. He looked almost human still, to be honest. Was he a thin-blood? Dean had only met a few in his time around the US, but he knew enough to know that they were just vampires with weaker powers and more resistance to our own weaknesses. The ones he had met looked human as well, but Dean still wasn't sure about this one. He seemed too experienced to be a mere thin-blood, and his use of Obfuscate was near professional - thin-bloods wouldn't even have the ability for something that powerful, let alone know how to use it properly.

"Who are you?" Dean demanded, stomping on the hand of the broken arm. The Malkavian simply whimpered in pain. Dean rolled his eyes; this guy was such a baby. "Tell me. Now."

The Malkavian didn't even seem to realize Dean was there anymore, let alone asking him questions. Dean didn't have time for this. He kneeled down on the floor. The Malkavian's eyes didn't even move from where they were glued to the floor. Dean sighed, grabbing ahold of his neck and twisting so quick he wouldn't even notice. His body combust into flames, the skin burning and floating upwards as his skeleton merely disintegrated. In a matter of seconds, any trace that the Malkavian ever existed was gone.

Grumbling to himself, Dean stood back up and headed down another hall. He was sick of this place already.

He didn't even notice the rooms as he marched through them, for how much he was fuming. When he finally came back to reality, he was pushing through a large, wooden door. It was polished and pristine, much like the front doors had been, as if someone came out and cleaned them every day. he walked past them, pushing the heavy wood to the side so it wouldn't swing shut behind him. He watched too many horror films to ignore the similarities. He definitely didn't want a repeat of the clichés.

The room was huge, as the others were, but definitely different in nature. It was a library. It stretched to two whole stories high, the bookshelves lining every inch of the walls. The floor was actually carpeted in here. It was a dull, dusty green, with shaggy edges. There was a path of more worn carpet, where it was a slightly brighter green and the shag was laid down flat, as if it had been walked on far more than the other areas of the room.

He started up the path, stepping up a bit at a small inclination of the floor. It was then that he noticed the candles. There were three lined up on the wall, and on the center one was another crazy Malkavian. He seemed preoccupied with the candles, repeatedly pulling at the center one, giggling endlessly. Dean suddenly felt very sorry for these subjects. They were completely crazy, and probably didn't know much about how and why it happened.

Dean approached him and grabbed his head, twisting it quickly. The Malkavian instantly burst into burning ashes.

He started pulling at the levers then, because of course even with his precautions the door had closed behind him. He figured if the levers could move like they did, there would be a way to open something up so he could keep going. Sure enough, he soon pulled them with some sort of correct order, because the door behind him was opening slowly.

It was quite a while before he came across any other subjects. He wandered around the mansion, trying - unsuccessfully, I might add - to find Grout. He walked through long hallways, tall rooms, and wandered up stairways and through trap doors and empty areas. This place was like a never-ending maze, and he was trapped in it, like a fly in a spider's web. It was infuriating, to say the least.

As Dean stepped onto an upper-level room after climbing a mile-long stairway, he immediately felt different. He walked down a short hallway and realized exactly why: the room was small. He had gotten so used to being in such open places that such a normal sized room totally threw him off. It was fairly tiny, compared to other places he'd been in. Almost like a large-ish bathroom. The tile was the same, black and white checkered, and the walls were the same style it had been in the main entryway. He don't know why, but it felt like he was genuinely getting somewhere here. He stepped down a small set of stairs into another room.

There was a couch. A long, bright red couch like the ones he'd seen downstairs. The problem was: there was a dead guy on it. There were large gashes all over his chest, and a gnawed bite-like mark on his neck. It seemed as if Grout had handed a mouse to his snakes. Unfortunately, they didn't clean it out afterwards. The smell was absolutely disgusting, and the rotted meat wrapped itself all around the room.

Dean wandered into the next room, to try and get away from the smell. Strangely enough, there was a long, spiral staircase that, when he trudged himself up it, led to a brief walkway. It was made out of a study dark wood, with strong, thick bars along the sides. Unfortunately he couldn't get a real good look at the world below, as the tops of the railings were about an inch taller than him. Dean squeezed his head through the smaller bars next to him, and his eyes immediately widened.

He was so high up - in the mountains it looked like - and he could see the beautiful lights of LA below him. The buildings stretched into the sky as the cars whizzed by and he could smell the fresh, crisp air of the cold, dewy night. After taking a few moments to admire the view, he pulled his head back, and headed down the opposite way.

The next room, after exiting the stairs, was a smaller place than even the room on the opposite side of the tower walk. It was just like every other area, with the black and white tile and off-white wallpaper. There was a fireplace on the far left side of the wall, including two red chairs facing it. A decorated rug was centered underneath them, along with a table in-between. Dean didn't immediately recognize any of these, though, as his eyes trailed instantly to the two female Malkavians on the other side of the room.

They looked positively terrified. They didn't speak to each other; didn't even look at each other, as their faces were in their hands. Soft sobbing could be heard from their corner of the room, and he wondered whether or not they were any threat. In the end, he decided he would make a lot of noise and, if they alerted, he would kill them.

After stomping around and making a screeching noise like the idiot he was, they didn't even move a muscle. He wondered briefly if they had been brainwashed, but honestly, he didn't care much.

It was then that Dean realized that he was trapped in this room. The only door was the one he had come out of, and there was no other way around. Next to where the women were, there was a mirror of some sort that looked vaguely suspicious, but he wasn't able to get to it without alerting the two crazies near it. Awkwardly, he wandered to the edge of the room - next to the fireplace - and stuck his hand out, to run it along the wall for anything else mildly suspicious.

After a while of scanning, Dean was beginning to lose hope and turn back around, but his fingers grazed a strange set of designs on the fireplace. He pushed lightly on an area of it that seemed to pop out a small amount more than the rest, and... voila! The fireplace turned slowly, revealing an opening on its side. he slid through quickly to avoid getting trapped in it, and came out in an exact replica of the previous room. Including the two crazed women in the corner. Curious, he looked at the mirror once again and realized that the reflection had the table on the ground (courtesy of his own work while trying to make loud noises), while the room he was currently in did not. It seems the 'mirror' was actually a window. He wondered briefly if that was intentional, then shook his head and wandered on. He was ready to be rid of this place.

Dean wandered then into even higher levels. There were a few bland hallways filled with locked doors and absolutely no furniture, and then... he was on a balcony. Of the library. He growled in frustration, swearing. Had he gone in a complete circle?

He groaned irritably as he trudged on, walking near the bookcases again. Strangely enough, he found a small book on the upper shelves that was poking out a bit more than the rest. He reached up slowly for it, wondering if it was a trap or another lever of some sort, as this place seemed to be filled with them. When he tried to pull it, it wouldn't budge. So he pushed.

There was a loud creaking and a bang before he felt the floor rumble slightly. Whipping his head around, he tried frantically to find the source of the loud noise. After a moment's hesitation, he found it: a bookcase had swung open to reveal a secret passage into, what seemed like, a basement area.

Dean sighed before jumping off the railing onto the lower level. He walked slowly into the room, and already heard a dull ringing from down the hall. It was a strange sound - like a sort of humming of a machine. As he drew nearer, the noise grew louder and louder until it was almost too loud to hear his own thoughts. It was no longer a humming, either, but a sort of electrifying sound, like lightning whipping against a power cord repeatedly.

He soon realized why it sounded like that. When he stepped into the room, he found a huge device - like some sort of Tesla Coil. It had large, lightning-like beams of electricity hitting specific places along the wall and the floor. He could only come to the conclusion that it was some sort of way to power the mansion. He knew Grout was a genius, but he didn't think he was into wiring and such.

There was no way around the beams. If he got too close, he knew he would be hit - and there was no way of telling whether or not he would be able to survive such a large amount of voltage. He was a vampire, sure, but not even the undead could live through some things.

It was then that Dean found a lever, a little down the wall from him. Cautiously, he walked over to it and grabbed ahold of the handle. No shock. He grabbed a firmer hold and yanked it down. There was a sound, as if a shock was being squandered, and he turned around to find that only one of the beams had been shut down. He moved to the middle of the room, careful not to get shocked, and moved over to where he had shut off the beam. There was another lever. He pulled it, and another beam went off.

He followed this pattern until he was able to get rid of all the electric beams. Grateful for the noise to finally be gone, he moved quickly out of the room and onto the next part of the mansion. Honestly, this place was like a video game, what with its level-like rooms and puzzles.

It was a while before anything else of note came up. Dean wandered for quite a while through huge rooms and tiny balconies and crawlspaces that made him queasy. Honestly, he don't know how Grout ever made it around his own house.

He finally got to the basement kitchen. It was a very large room (like all of them) and had strange chairs and strapping devices throughout. There was a walk-in refrigerator, and as soon as he stepped in, he could smell it. The eerie sense of something not right and the pungent smell of Elder Vitae stung his eyes and drew him in. Elder Vitae was a very strong, powerful blood from a vampire who was at least a couple hundred years old. Why did he have any in his fridge? Better yet, how had he gotten it?

Resisting the urge to steal the blood - as it was a very alluring smell to any vampire, even older ones - Dean ran out of the fridge and back into the entryway to the kitchen. He looked towards the corner, and noticed a glinting metal in the dim green lighting. Curious, he stalked over to it. It was a key. He pocketed it, as you couldn't be too prepared here if you tried, and walked back.

The passageway to his right was a wide, open staircase, but... There was a metal door at the bottom. Strange, he thought, because the kitchen was big enough without another pantry, and it didn't look like the most welcoming place for a dining room. Besides, Grout didn't seem like he used this place but once every three years, and to be honest, Dean didn't blame him. It was creepy - creepier than the rest of the place, really.

But Dean walked on, ready to get through this place and leave. As he got closer, however, he heard the same sort of whisper he had when he first arrived. As if a silenced bullet was shooting past his ears very slowly. He turned around, but found nothing. He wondered briefly if there was another Obfuscated Malkavian, but it didn't feel the sort of presence he had with the first one, and there weren't any other signs of invisible persons. He forced himself to man up again and kept walking.

Once inside the huge metal doors, Dean realized instantly what this place was. The hallways were full of barred doors and padded walls. Every now and again he would hear a winded panting, or a soft sob. It was Grout's testing chambers. Every door that wasn't opened already or broken off its hinges had a man or a woman, bound in chains, whimpering in their corners of the concrete. Had they not been fed? They must be dried up and rotting - or at least scared to Final Death about anything and everything down here.

Dean knew he couldn't do anything for them but give them Final Death, and even that would be risky. They would no doubt Frenzy if they saw him, whether or not they could tell he wasn't human. Vampires with blood withdrawal were weak, yes, but anything could tip them off into a crazed feeding machine, and he didn't want to get in the middle of it.

After wandering through the basement for a while longer, Dean finally came to a place where he wasn't really sure he would be able to get out of. It looked as if the ceiling had fallen in, and he was able to look up and see the next room. He felt as if he got up there, he would be able to advance even farther, but the strange feeling was also accompanied by a self-consciousness. Would he be able to actually get out of here? Surely he could, as he had superior strength and dexterity, but... The puzzles and mazes of the mansion were starting to grate on his mental soundness.

Dean shook his head violently to try and get himself back to reality. Gathering all the strength he could manage, he grabbed ahold of some of the broken-in ceiling rubble and launched himself upward with all the strength in my legs and arms. He was able to grab a hold of the edge of the brake-in and managed to pull himself up. He was careful to walk around, though, because obviously the floor wasn't quite as stable as it should be.

The room was massive - almost bigger than the first set of rooms he saw when he first came in. The same set of floors and walls lined it, and no other furniture but a chair and a table.

Dean took another look around before walking - carefully - toward a small, uphill ramp. It lead to a large, wooden door with small intricacies all over it, not to mention the strange hooks that seemed to work as a lock. Luckily they were leaning up, and he turned the handle ever so slightly. The door opened with ease, as if it had been used many, many times before.

The door revealed a simple set of stairs. Figures. If you actually knew how many stairs he had climbed so far, you would be utterly amazed. Groaning, he forced himself up the staircase and into a small T-shaped hallway.

The next room, a little farther down the T hall, was a large-ish, circular room. It was instantly strange, seeing as there was a big bubble in the middle of the room, containing what, Dean imagined, was Grout's wife. She seemed almost trapped in a strange stasis inside the bubble, her arms spread apart and her head tilted upwards almost gracefully. Around the walls of the room were small indentions, clearly built for important trinkets of some kind. A few contained things like a watch, a flower, a small statue - really anything that two crazed vampires would think was valuable.

Dean was getting all sorts of uncomfortable vibes from this place, and made it a point to get to the opposite side of the room as quickly as he could. Unfortunately, it was locked. Grunting at the slight annoyance, he headed back down to the circular room and searched for some sort of lever. He couldn't find anything that looked like it would open a door, however, and started back towards where he had come from. Maybe this room wasn't anything but the place he kept his wife...

Figures he would trip on his way back. He had always been a bit of a klutz, though of course he had gotten damn good at hiding it. As fell, however, he bumped into the side of one of the displays in their alcoves. It was a record machine, and apparently the bump was enough for the stylus to hit the record, and it started playing. It was an eerie tune, like something from the 20's, but much slower and dry than it was supposed to be, like it had collected dust and been scratched and broken in many spots.

But it seemed to have triggered something. The bubble containing Mrs. Grout was turning, making her face the locked room. Dean got up from the floor and looked toward where she was now facing, and realized the locks that had barred the door were now up and against the walls.

Excited that he'd inadvertently figured something out, he borderline skipped toward the door, ready to move onto the next place and out of there.

Dean pushed past the door, and immediately felt the change in atmosphere. It was a sort of dark, humid feel to the room, as if it was softer and less cold. Almost stuffy. There was carpet lining the floor, and the walls were a dark purple. He realized then that it was a bedroom, with the wardrobe to the side and a bed on the far left wall. And on the bed... Was a skeleton, covered with dusted, dead vampire ashes, and a stake through the heart.

He don't know how, but he knew this was Grout's remains. He just felt like... there was nowhere else he could have been, no way Grout would've gotten past him, no rooms unexplored the primogen could have been hiding in. And the fact that the reason he was there to begin with was because no one had heard from him in ages...

Just then, a large explosion shook the ground from under Dean. It trembled, almost knocking him to the ground and leaving him confused. Why...? He ran out of the last door, and came out on a balcony overlooking the original entryway. Had he not noticed it before? He could have just grabbed a ladder?! He didn't have too much time to get angry at himself, as a man from the entryway was shouting at him. Dean was so unaccustomed to the presence of other beings that he was caught off guard; but only for a moment.

"Come out, Hellish fiend! You have lived your last days!" His accent was very heavy, though Dean didn't know where from.

"I'm not Grout! You've already killed him!" But Dean didn't know it was this guy, of course. But he was bad news, Dean knew that. Then, he realized what the previous explosion had been. Fire was starting to spread throughout the lower floor, surrounding him. "You're plan's worked out pretty well, huh?"

"Know your place, scum! I will deliver to you Final Death!"

This guy was boring Dean. But he couldn't jump down - it was consumed by fire. He had no choice but to run along the side railing, around the edge of the room. He saw out of the corner of his eye the hunter dude leaving the room, and presumably the mansion, before he was able to get to the other side of the main entrance. It was still too fiery to jump down, and so he ran to the other side of the railing, back down a hall, and through many rooms.

He could feel the fire burning through the rooms as he ran down several halls. Each either had burning debris or some crazed Malkavian on fire. Every room he tried either was locked or full of smoke and flame. There seemed to be no way out. He began to lose hope, the fire burning his eyes.

Dean reached the end of the last hall he could possibly find and rammed his shoulder against the door, pushing all his weight against it. He did it again, and again, and the last time it burst open with a protesting shudder. There was no fire in here, no smoked out windows. But there was also nothing else in there. Nothing but one, singular window.

He ran for it. Bursting through the glass and flying through the air, Dean closed his eyes and waited for him to splat against the ground. But he didn't. Like a cat, his hands and legs spread out underneath him like some sort of subconscious reaction. He landed on the lawn next to the front gate, completely and utterly unharmed. For a moment, he couldn't believe that he was still alive. A shuddering laugh escaped his throat and he stood up, ecstatic. He was still alive! Or, well, undead. Whatever.

Dean turned around, looking back towards the burning mansion. All the windows had popped open and fire was spewing out. The door was hanging open, as if someone had made a quick run for it. He wondered who that guy was. A hunter? Obviously, but was he special? Renown? He no doubt thought very highly of himself.

But who cares? Dean was finally free and out of that God-forsaken mansion. With a laugh, he started his way out the gate and got his phone out to call the cab. Time for a little talk with LaCroix.

* * *

**A/N #2 - **As for the next chapter, expect it at March 7th. See ya then!


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